"If you're staying, then I'm staying," Cooder said, letting his famous granite jaw jut out like the prow on an Aegis cruiser. But his saggy eyes were uneasy.
All at once the glass in front of them simply fell out. And the gargantuan contending blades hadn't even connected.
Reverend Juniper Jackman and Don Cooder jumped back, grabbing one another in fear.
"I'll go if you'll go," Cooder whispered.
"I'll go if goin' stays our little secret," Jackman hissed.
"You won't tell my public?"
"If you don't breathe a word to my constituency."
"Deal, brother."
They bombed down the stairs holding hands like a two frightened children scampering from a haunted house.
Except that the true horrors lurked outside the building, not within it.
Chapter 4
General Razzik Azziz, defense minister of all Irait and occupied Kuran, burst into the headquarters of the Revolting Command Council, out of breath, his eyes sick with fear, and his brown face sheathed in a layer of perspiration deep enough to fry onion rings.
Most of the other council members had already beat him to the room, he was horrified to realize. They sat around the square council table, their identical mustaches twitching and quirking nervously.
To Azziz's profound surprise, none had claimed the seat formerly occupied by the late President Maddas Hinsein.
Sensing the opportunity to seize power by the simple application of his backside to morocco leather, General Razzik Azziz hastily plunked himself down.
He saw no opposition from the others, so his tight features broke into a wide grin under the sweat-dewed mustache.
"I hearby declare myself President for Life, the natural successor of our beloved leader, Maddas the Unforgettable," Azziz said in his most formal voice.
To his astonishment, the Revolting Command Councilor such of them as had survived the apparent coup in Arab Renaissance Square-burst out in relieved applause.
"I further hereby declare that from this day forward," he announced, "the decree that all Iraitis must emulate our former Precious Leader in all ways, especially as regards to facial hair, is this instant repealed."
More applause. President Razzik Azziz scowled. This was too easy. What were they up to?
"Henceforth," he added, "I will be addressed as al-Rais, the President."
Even more applause. Two men, the iron-haired foreign minister and the prissy-faced minister of information, stood up in a modest standing ovation.
"No," Azziz said suddenly. "Al-Ze'em, the Leader."
Everyone stood up now. The applause swelled.
This, President Razzik Azziz knew, was not typical Iraiti behavior in the halls of power. For thousands of years, going back to the empires of ancient Assyria and Babylon, the vestigial roots of modern Irait, the rulers of this land had to murder and torture their way to the top, and as often as not ultimately died by assassination.
Something was very, very wrong.
But, not having any clue as to what that might be, Azziz pushed on, consolidating power.
"Now that this is settled, we must deal with the Kuran problem," he announced as he motioned for the others to take their seats. "An accommodation must be reached with the American forces, who are not responsible for our ambassador's fate, according to secret information I have obtained."
"What about the Palestinian problem?" asked the minister of education.
President Azziz made a face. He turned to the information minister, saying, "Release this statement. 'I, President Razzik Azziz of the Republic of Irait, hereby declare that I will defend the cause of Palestine to the very last drop of Palestinian blood.' "
With that settled, so that no one would doubt his meaning, President Azziz went on: "We must get word to Washington of our intention to return the Arab land of Kuran to the scavengers who had held it. We no longer wish to inhabit it. We have everything of value anyway, including the imported English cobblestones."
"What about the United Nations forces?" the foreign minister asked. "Once we retreat, they will advance into Kuran and establish a base near our true southern border. Then we shall never be rid of them."
"We will never be rid of them as long as they have an excuse to attack," President Azziz said, slapping the table. "Have this done. We will deal with the consequences later."
The foreign minister nodded. "At once."
"Then inform Washington and other capitals that from this moment on, the hostages-"
"Guests under duress," corrected the information minister, who had coined the diplomatic neologism.
"-guests under duress," finished President Azziz, "are free to leave without restriction or hindrance."
"Is that wise?" asked the minister of education.
President Azziz, seeing the beginnings of opposition, considered pulling out his service pistol and shooting the man dead where he sat. But upon reflection, he thought it impolitic to shoot council members in the first ten minutes of his term of office.
Instead he asked, "Why do you ask?"
"The American agents who are even now running amok in Arab Renaissance Square," offered the education minister. "Should you not make their surrender a condition of this gesture toward peace and goodwill?"
This was actually an excellent idea, thought President Azziz, who had momentarily forgotten the terrible sight in the square from which he and the others had fled.
He made a mental note to have the man tried for treason at the earliest pretext that presented itself. He was too smart for his own good. Besides, Azziz had a brother-in-law who would make a perfect education minister. The man could actually read.
"Let this be a condition of our terms," he pronounced.
Just then the cultural minister burst in, hot, sweaty, and thoroughly frightened.
"They are ruining the city!" he shouted. "Why does no one stop them?"
"Because we have no defense minister," replied President Azziz in a reasonable tone.
"But you are the defense minister, Azziz."
Then the cultural minister recognized that Razzik Azziz sat in the Precious Leader's chair.
"You may address me as al-Ze'em," said Razzik Azziz, pride causing his mustache to bristle manfully.
"Al-Ze'em, they are monsters," the man said quickly. "The woman is possessed by demons and the man roars like Shaitan himself unleashed upon the world. They have taken up the scimitars of Maddas Hinsein himself and are battling as if to end the world!"
"Who is winning?" demanded Azziz.
"I could not say. But Abominadad, it is surely losing. They have leveled the square and are moving this way."
"I promote you to defense minister, my brother, and charge you with the sacred duty of defending our ancient capital from naked aggression."
"The blond woman, her aggression is truly naked. For she wears no abayuh. Also, she possesses the limbs of a poisonous spider."
"Then exterminate them both this instant."
The new defense minister hastened away to perform his sacred duty.
President Azziz addressed the others. "I suggest we witness our unavoidable victory from the roof," he said confidently.
From the roof of the Palace of Sorrows they could see, imperfectly and only at intervals, the conflict raging several miles away.
Most often visible were the blades. The tiny figures that wielded them were not at all visible.
The clashing scimitars struck sparks that actually started small fires around the center of battle. Sirens whined. The roads were choked with the fleeing.
The green-onion shape of the Tomb of the Unknown Martyr shook like a ceramic bell as the scimitars clashed and sprang apart directly behind it.
"Can you see them?" asked the President.
"No, al-Ze'em!" came the crisp answer. "Only the great blades."
One scimitar twisted and whirled, pushing back at the other. On the backswing, it sliced through the green dome as if it were a simple bowl. The crash and rattle of falling debris made everyone assembled on the roof think of an earthquake.